Singing at Midnight

June 1, 2025 homily on Psalm 97 and Acts 16:25-34 by Pastor Galen

“About midnight Paul and Silas were praying and singing hymns to God…” – Acts 16:25a

Music in Challenging Times

Several years ago, when I was going through a rather stressful time at work, I frequently found myself listening to a particular worship song by Hillsong United, entitled “You.” The song would not be easy for us to sing here in church — it has an ethereal, almost otherworldly melody, and it was written more for a soloist than for congregational singing. But the soothing melody of the song provided comfort to me in the midst of my stressful situation, and the words encouraged my heart.

The first verse of the song goes like this:

As I pray, and wait upon the Lord; I know Your grace, In love I am restored.

As I think of all You’ve done for me, A mystery of Your love.

Who walked upon the sea? Who lived to die for me?

You, Lord; You, Lord; You Are Lord

Music often helps us through difficult times. Whether you listen to slow, soothing songs to help you calm down when you’re feeling stressed or anxious, or angry songs that help you release your frustration and feel understood, music has a way of meeting us where we are. It can lift our spirits, speak words we can’t find ourselves, and remind us that we’re not alone.

Songs in the Night

I don’t know exactly which songs Paul and Silas sang when they were locked in jail in Philippi, but Acts 16 tells us that they were praying and singing hymns to God. Perhaps they sang a psalm, like Psalm 97, that speaks of the awesome power of God, and how the Lord “rescues [the faithful] from the hand of the wicked” (Psalm 97:10). Maybe they sang about how God’s awesome power “consumes his adversaries,” as the Psalmist reminds us in Psalm 97:3. After all, Paul and Silas had just been attacked by an angry mob and beaten and thrown into jail simply because they delivered a girl who had been enslaved by a spirit of divination—one that her owners had been exploiting for profit. Stripped of their ability to make money from her, her owners stirred up an angry mob, setting off the chain of events that led to Paul and Silas being imprisoned. 

Most likely, Paul and Silas sang hymns that recalled how God had delivered their ancestors from slavery in Egypt, and Daniel from the lion’s den, and Daniel’s three friends from the fiery furnace, or any of the countless other times God had delivered people who were in distress or captivity. There in their prison cell, bruised and shackled, they prayed and sang hymns to God. The words of the songs provided them with the strength and courage to stave off despair and kept their hope alive.

A Miraculous Answer to Prayer

At around midnight, while they were praying and singing hymns to God, “Suddenly there was an earthquake so violent that the foundations of the prison were shaken, and immediately all the doors were opened and everyone’s chains were unfastened” (Acts 16:26). Some might wonder if this was just a coincidence. But earthquakes typically bring destruction, not freedom. The fact that the doors of the prison were opened but that the ceiling did not cave in, and the fact that everyone’s chains were unfastened but no one was hurt, indicates that something miraculous had transpired. 

Paul and Silas Witness to the Jailer

Most of us, if we found ourselves in that situation, would have taken the opportunity to escape as fast as we could. The doors were opened, their chains had been unfastened — it seemed like God had indeed rescued his faithful ones from the hands of the wicked, like we read in Psalm 97:10. The jailer certainly assumed this was the case. When he came to the prison and saw the doors flung open, he assumed the prisoners had fled, and he knew that he would be blamed for their escape. He was tempted to end it all right then and there, since he would certainly be held accountable for their escape.

But Paul called out to reassure him that all of the prisoners were still there. Why they hadn’t fled, we don’t know. Had they been beaten and bruised so badly that they couldn’t run? Maybe Paul and Silas convinced them all to stay out of concern for the jailer’s life. Or maybe the prisoners knew they would be treated better if they stayed than if they fled and were caught. After all, “Roman law treated escape from custody as a criminal act, but often treated with favor those who refused to escape” (Keener, IVP New Testament Bible Background Commentary, p. 372)

Whatever the reason they stayed, when the jailer realized that all of the prisoners were still there, “he fell down trembling before Paul and Silas….and said, ‘Sirs, what must I do to be saved?’” (Acts 16:29-30). 

The jailer seems to have realized that while his physical life had just been saved, there was certainly something lacking in his spiritual life. Perhaps it was the peace that Paul and Silas displayed when they sang songs while locked inside their prison cells. Perhaps it was the awesome power of God manifested through the earthquake that opened the doors of the prison and loosened their chains. Perhaps it was the fact that they stayed when they had the chance to flee. Either way, the jailer saw their deep and profound faith, and he wanted what they had. And so he fell at their feet, what he could do to be saved. Paul and Silas shared the Gospel, and that same night, the jailer and his entire family were baptized. The jailer brought his former prisoners into his house and fed them and washed their wounds, “and he and his entire household rejoiced that he had become a believer in God” (Acts 16:34).

John Wesley and the Moravians

As I was thinking about the role that songs and hymns played in this story — both in providing comfort to Paul and Silas, and also serving as a witness to the other prisoners and the jailer, I was reminded of a story from the history of our Methodist movement. The story is about John Wesley (1703-1791), one of the founders of Methodism, whose faith was profoundly impacted by Moravian missionaries during a voyage to America.

In 1736, John Wesley, who had been ordained an Anglican priest in England several years prior, was sailing across the Atlantic to what is now the state of Georgia. While a fellow in seminary at Oxford, John and his brother Charles and others had formed the group that would come to be called The Methodists, due to their methodical approach to Christian spirituality. While John was very sincere in his desire to live out the Christian faith, he constantly wrestled with doubts about his own salvation, and lacked an assurance of God’s grace.

At one point during his voyage across the Atlantic, a terrible storm came up and broke the mast off the ship. While most of the passengers panicked, some Moravian missionaries on board calmly sang hymns and prayed. John was in awe of the peace that the Moravians displayed even in the midst of such a terrible storm. According to his journal, he asked one of the Moravians afterwards if he was not afraid. “He answered, ‘I thank God, no.’ [John] asked, ‘But were not your women and children afraid?” He replied, mildly, ‘No; our women and children are not afraid to die.’”

Wesley saw that the Moravians possessed an assurance of God’s love and grace that he lacked. This set the stage for an experience he had when he returned back to England in which he felt his heart “strangely warmed” and trusted in Christ alone for salvation.

Two things stick out to me from this story:

1. The Moravians were not singing songs to try to convert the other passengers on the ship. Most likely, they sang because the songs provided them with a sense of peace and tranquility. They sang to remind themselves and each other of God’s power to deliver. And yet their singing profoundly impacted those around them, including John Wesley, thereby influencing the whole Methodist movement.

2. We have no record of the actual songs they sang. Since the Moravians spoke German, the English passengers aboard the ship probably had no idea what they were singing about. But the peace and tranquility that they expressed, and the fact that they were not afraid to die, spoke volumes to John Wesley and the other passengers. 

Praise and Protest

A few months ago, I had the opportunity to travel to Alabama with a group of students from the seminary where I work. We visited some of the sites where pivotal events of the Civil Rights movement of the 1950’s and 1960’s took place, such as the Edmund Pettus bridge in Selma, where where civil rights activists were brutally attacked by police while marching from Selma to Montgomery, Alabama on Sunday, March 7th, 1965, in what would come to be known as Bloody Sunday. We heard from a woman, now in her mid-70s, who was there as a teenager during those events. She talked about the role that songs and music played during the Civil Rights movement, in providing strength and courage to press on. 

In his memoir, Walking with the Wind, John Lewis, talks about this as well. He says that the song, “We Shall Overcome” sustained him throughout the years of struggle — especially those moments when demonstrators who had been beaten, arrested or detained would stand and sing it together. “It gave you a sense of faith, a sense of strength, to continue to struggle, to continue to push on. And you would lose your sense of fear,” Lewis says. “You were prepared to march into hell’s fire.”

Conclusion: Singing as Sacred Witness

The reality is that Paul and Silas did not sing because they were free, but because they believed they would be. The Moravians sang not because they were safe, but because they trusted the One who could keep them safe, and who had the power to calm the storm. John Lewis and the other marchers sang not because they had already overcome, but because they believed the arc of the moral universe was bending toward justice, and that it was God who was doing the bending.

In each of these stories, music was more than a response to God’s faithfulness—it became a means of grace, a declaration of faith, a tool of resistance, and a witness to the world.

And that’s still true for us today.

We may not be in prison cells or on stormy seas or crossing bridges under threat of violence—but many of us carry burdens that feel just as heavy. Some of us are navigating hard diagnoses. Some are dealing with family strain or grief or the quiet ache of doubt and uncertainty. Some of us simply feel tired.

But we still sing. We sing not to pretend that everything is okay, but to remind ourselves of the God who walks with us through the valley. We sing to strengthen and encourage one another. And in doing so, we bear witness to the world that the story isn’t over, and the God who set prisoners free still moves today.

So let us be a people who keep singing. In the daylight and at midnight. In the sanctuary and in the storm. In comfort and in protest. Because when we sing, chains can still fall, hearts can still be opened, and hope can still rise.

Amen!

Questions for Personal Reflection in Response to Today’s Sermon:

1. What role does music play in my spiritual life during times of stress, sorrow, or uncertainty?
2. How might my own expressions of faith—especially through song or worship—serve as a quiet witness to others?
3. What songs have strengthened me in community settings—like church, protest marches, or memorials?
4. How can I encourage others in my community to keep singing, especially when hope feels hard to hold onto?
5. Where is God calling me to sing, serve, or speak as a testimony to hope—even if I feel uncertain or afraid?